


Embrace Yourself (And Others, Too)

by unadrift



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, First Time, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-29
Updated: 2009-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 23:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadrift/pseuds/unadrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which aliens make them do it, except that it's not quite so simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embrace Yourself (And Others, Too)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by naye and tacittype.

"Carson?" Rodney zigzagged through the infirmary, checking all the places Carson could possibly be hiding. He got lucky behind the shelf filled with latex gloves and other things medical nightmares were made of. "There you are. They did something to me on Lego-planet! I can't concentrate! I have work to do! You have to reverse it! Maybe I should return there? Yes, I should talk to Aldor in person and order him to--"

"Stop." Carson held up a hand. And-- was that a sigh? He gently pushed Rodney backwards to sit on a bed. "Try again. Slowly. What are your symptoms?"

Consulting Carson had seemed like a good idea in theory. Only Rodney hadn't taken into account that he'd have to _tell him everything_.

"Um," he said.

"Are you in any pain?"

Rodney considered the question. "No."

"So, what is it?"

"I, um."

Carson sighed, loudly this time. "I haven't got all bloody day, you know."

Right. Infirmary deserted, boxes of latex gloves all stacked neatly – like hell he didn't. "Is this confidential?"

"Of course."

"Seriously. Really?"

"Aye."

"You won't write anything down?"

"If that's what you want. Although it might complicate any treatment I might--"

"Yes, yes." Rodney waved his hand impatiently. He'd just say it. Quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. "They turned me gay."   
There was no nice way to put it – Carson gaped. "Say again?"

"The Lego-people turned me gay." It was actually easier the second time.

Carson gaped some more. "They--"

Had Carson always been this slow? "Turned me gay. And if I have to repeat that one more time, I'm out of here."

"O-kay."

Then Rodney launched into the tale of his terrible ordeal.

* * *

"We cannot continue." Aldor waved his hand in a gesture that passed for a shrug on Legoria. "The elders will resume the talk when your issues are resolved."

"Issues? What issues? We-- "

Sheppard cut Rodney off. "So, what exactly did we do?" _This time_, hung unspoken in the air.

"Doctor McKay's insults undermined your authority you in front of everyone. This led to the reasonable conclusion that you are not respected by your own people."

"I insulted no one," Rodney interrupted defiantly. "Not in so many words. I merely pointed out that--"

"McKay!" Sheppard snapped.

"But I--"

"Mc_Kay_! "

Aldor ignored their exchange with the solemn patience of a true diplomat . "Doctor McKay is expected to show his respect. He must apologize and seek your forgiveness."

"Sorry Major," Rodney said quickly – possibly too quickly. Sheppard glared at him. "And that's what he looks like when he's graciously granting forgiveness. Can we get on with the show now?"

"We cannot," Aldor said stiffly, and no, Rodney hadn't expected it to be that easy.

"So, what am I required to waste my time with?" he asked impatiently. They really needed the food, but seriously, Atlantis's foremost expert on everything had much better things to do with his time.

"You could shut up for all of five minutes," Sheppard suggested. "That'd lift my spirits."

"Funny," Rodney retorted.

Unfortunately, Aldor's people didn't grasp the general concept of sarcasm, which was what had gotten Rodney and Sheppard into this mess in the first place. "The elders would not be impressed by that. Not talking is no sacrifice."

Sheppard snorted. "They don't know him."

"Hey!"

Again, Aldor managed to seamlessly override their exchange, but his tone was a little sharper when he explained, "Doctor McKay is expected to pay retribution. Commonly this is done by giving pleasure."

Sheppard grinned. "I like the sound of that."

"Of course you do." Sheppard's lack of concern made this all the more annoying to Rodney. "And could you be any more vague? Pleasure? That could mean anything from a bar from my secret chocolate stash to-- to--"

"Sexual pleasure," Aldor clarified sternly, and finally a look of alarm appeared on Sheppard's face. Rodney was kind of pleased, right up to the point where the implications sank in.

"Wh-- What?! Right here?" he squeaked, gesturing frantically to the row of elders who were watching their conversation from across the assembly hall.

Aldor had the decency to look scandalized. "Of course not. You may use the antechamber."

Suddenly the future looked a lot brighter. "Oh. Right. No problem then." Rodney tugged on Sheppard's sleeve. "Come on."  
"What do you mean, no problem?" Sheppard said, the seeds of panic in his voice.

Rodney savored the rare sound for a moment. "You and me. Alo-one. In the antechamber," he sing-songed then, raising his eyebrows.  
Sheppard got it at last. "Oh. Yeah. We'll be right back."

"Wait." Aldor eyed them skeptically. "It would be best if there was-- evidence audible in here."

"Of how sexually pleased he is with me?" Rodney asked cheerfully, which got Sheppard from a little panicked to seriously pissed in no time flat. Aldor turned his back on them without another word.

"How come you screw up, and I get to do all the work?" Sheppard hissed when he shoved Rodney roughly through the door.

"Should have studied the job description before you signed up," Rodney answered brightly.

Several minutes later Rodney started to envy Ford the nasty flu that had gotten him and Teyla an early ticket out of there. Because, Jesus, Sheppard really got into the spirit of things. "Turn around," he had ordered. "I can't do this with you looking at me." Rodney had been slightly irritated by that but he had obeyed, which he really regretted by now.

Of course Sheppard had to be good at this – wasn't he at everything? With those moans and gasps and other little encouraging sounds that inspired all kinds of dirty thoughts, Rodney felt himself flush a deeper shade of red with every passing minute. The fact that he _knew_ there was nothing going on behind his back other than Sheppard glaring daggers at him did nothing to make it better.

"Join in," Sheppard whispered in between moans.

"What?"

"Say something. Complain about your terrible ordeal." Sheppard added a breathy, but nevertheless quite audible, "Oh yes, like that!" for the audience's benefit.

"I-- I can't--"

"Sure you can. You _must_. They know you by now."

"Funny," Rodney said, a little louder than he'd meant to, and cringed. "Here's a thought. We'd be quiet if we were, um, kissing."  
Sheppard's gasp, the loud and heartfelt one that followed that statement, must have been purely coincidental. "One – I'm not exactly quiet. And two – we really won't look like we've done that."

"Right." Rodney frowned at the images he'd conjured. He wiped his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. "You know, you could-- by now. Then we'd be out of here."

"You're that good?"

"Probably not. But we can pretend, right?"

"No one's that good." Sheppard gave a moan.

"You're dragging it out deliberately!" Rodney accused. "Don't drag it out! Get us out of here!"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm starting to enjoy myself here."

"I hate you," Rodney stated vehemently. "Really, really hate you," he emphasized, and Sheppard, the manipulative bastard, started a series of gasps and breathless, sort of desperate noises that suggested he was close to climax. Those noises did Rodney in, leaving what felt like a space time distortion in his brain, which was assaulted by a 3D vision of Sheppard, hard and panting and stroking himself, lips parted slightly, eyes intent on Rodney's--

"I-- I doubt they can hear the-- that across the hall," McKay stuttered, focusing intently on the utterly ugly tapestry on the wall in front of him, trying to think of something absolutely mood-killing, but nothing came to mind.

"Have to go for realism," Sheppard panted. All this performing business had to be pretty exhausting. "Also, _you_ complain? How about a little useful participation here?"

Rodney's head was empty, except for the noises echoing around in his personal porn movie theater of Sheppard. He swallowed. "I-- um."

"You uptight coward," Sheppard hissed and dialed the noise up notch by notch, until-- "Rodney!" he shouted, with feeling, on a rush of breath.

Rodney shivered, aroused, confused, and absurdly pleased with himself, as if he'd actually made Sheppard come.

"Can I call you John now?" he asked stupidly after a few seconds. The silence that followed was heavily charged. With what, Rodney wasn't entirely sure. "Get back to them first," he finally suggested in what he hoped was a steady voice. He didn't dare to turn around. The erection he was sporting would possibly beg an explanation. "Tell them I have to-- to compose myself, delete my short term memories, chop my hands off, whatever."

"Good idea. Finally _some_ contribution," Sheppard said, obviously angry, and left.

* * *

"Sure, we got the grain and a lot of other infinitely less useful stuff out of this. But since then I can't think of anything but _Sheppard_." Rodney spat the name out with the disgust it deserved. "Twenty-four seven! I'm supposed to be _working_! Imagine the Wraith showing up on our doorstep. We'd be doomed beyond belief because I can't stop staring at Sheppard's ass and wonder if-- Never mind." He stopped pacing and snapped his fingers. "Brainwash! They brainwashed me into –" Rodney approached Carson suspiciously. "Do you find this amusing?"

Carson shook his head, desperately trying to still his shaking shoulders.

"This is not amusing!" Rodney shouted at the top of his voice. Carson stared at him with wide-eyed surprise. No, really, this wasn't amusing in the slightest, and Carson finally seemed to get it. Rodney folded into a chair, defeated, and put his head in his hands.

"Rodney," Carson started carefully, "have you considered--"

"I'm not."

"You're not what?"

"Gay. Or bi. Whatever you were going to suggest." Of course Carson would pick up on the easiest explanation. Easiest for him, at least.

"You have to admit that it's the most logical--"

"No! No. This is some-- some backward idea of a totally unjustified punishment. There has got to be a way to reverse it. Do your worst, voodoo the answer out of me." Rodney stood abruptly, looking around. "Where do you want me?"

Carson didn't throw him out of the infirmary then. It started to evoke the tiniest amount of trust in the medical profession in Rodney.

But of course, when all results were back the next day, Carson claimed to find nothing wrong with Rodney at all. "You're healthy as a horse," was his highly professional diagnosis, which was the final proof that medicine didn't really qualify as science. Rodney said as much, snidely, when he left the infirmary.

This wasn't healthy. This wasn't normal. The Lego-people had given him _ideas_. Usually, Rodney liked ideas. If they contributed to giant leaps in wormhole theory, or helped kill a decent number of Wraith, Rodney _loved_ ideas. But Sheppard naked, Sheppard on his knees jerking himself off, those were absolutely not Rodney's idea of good ideas. Unfortunately he was doomed to be struck by them at the most inconvenient times, always painfully tempted to just go with the flow and find a private room to finally jerk off with Sheppard hot on his mind. Which would be _wrong_ on more levels than he could count.

And all this because of the backward punishment that hadn't really been a viable punishment, because they'd _cheated_. No matter what Carson said, this was the lingering effect. Not permanent, hopefully. God, Rodney fervently hoped it wasn't.

Elizabeth had been pleased with their shiny new trade agreement, especially because of the wheat-like grain. "I foresee waffles in the near future," she had said almost dreamily during the debriefing.

"We need whipped cream," Rodney had chimed in. "Next stop: Backwater planet with lots of cows on it."

Sheppard hadn't even smirked at that, what with being very busy shooting dark looks in Rodney's direction. Even then, some part of Rodney's mind had automatically snapped to attention at Sheppard's intent gazes. It had made him trail off in mid-sentence more than once.

Fortunately, there was no mention of strange alien rituals at any point during or after the meeting, and their next off-world trip was postponed in favor of some much needed downtime. After recent close encounters with killer storms, killer Genii, and killer viruses that had effectively killed all attempts at sensible time management and sticking to duty rosters, there weren't enough hours in a day to ever repay them all in leisure time. Elizabeth tried, though, as a reward for a "smoothly run mission", as she put it.

Sheppard didn't quite seem to catch the meaning of the gesture. As far as Rodney could tell, he let himself be beaten up by Teyla a lot during the following couple of days. And he must have circled the city at least once _on foot_. There were darkened patches on his shirt and droplets of sweat running down his neck and face, when he joined Rodney in a transporter far out on the south pier in sweat pants and sneakers, still out of breath.

"McKay," was all he said, and Rodney may not be a genius with interpersonal relations, but he got that Sheppard was still pissed. Somehow, that made the-- the _thing_ worse. It wasn't difficult, making the leap to the image of a growling out-of-breath Sheppard shoving Rodney against the wall, pressing close and closer, all unleashed anger. The drop of sweat that had caught on Sheppard's upper lip would taste salty on Rodney's tongue, and-- God, he was _so_ not going there."Major," he answered instead, equally clipped, willing himself to stare straight ahead. When Sheppard left the transporter a long ten seconds later, the smell of sweat lingered, and Rodney did absolutely not stick around until it faded, just so he could enjoy it a little longer. The color saturation values of the touch screen would have had to be adjusted by someone sometime, after all. Why not him, why not right now.

* * *

"Sweat!"

Carson looked up from his laptop, as slow on the uptake as ever. "What?"

Rodney sank into the chair opposite to Carson's desk. "The-- I don't know, pheromones? Whatever it is that makes anyone jump anyone. They're in Sheppard's sweat."

"You've figured it all out, I see."

"Of course. It's not me, it's him! I'm perfectly fine until Sheppard's sweaty self gets close, and then, boom, I'm can hardly stop myself from grabbing him and--"

"No need to elaborate," Carson cut in. "I think I get the picture."

"You do? Great! Then go get a sample and start working this out."

Carson closed his laptop and folded his hands on top of it. "Rodney," he said in his most reasonable voice. Rodney hated Carson's most reasonable voice. It usually preceded bad news. "You are--"

"Fine, yes. I'm fine. We've established that. Sheppard's the one distributing the super-pheromones that manage to override my rock-solid straightness. Go poke him with a needle and _make it stop!_ This is seriously starting to distract me, and I really don't need distraction in my line of work, in case you hadn't noticed. Kusanagi pointed out an error in my calculations today!"

"I can see how that would disturb you," Carson said.

"Yes, well, _Kavanaugh_ would have been worse but-- Don't you mock me!" On the average day Rodney was the only thing standing between Atlantis and Certain Doom, the trademarked kind with the capital letters, and that bastard was making fun of him? "Your life is on the line as well as mine if I'm unable to get my act together and _think_ when I need to. Sheppard is--"

"--not the source of your problem," Carson finished firmly, seemingly oblivious to Rodney's death glare. "Not directly, at least. There's a flaw in your logic."

Of course. There was a flaw in _Rodney's_ logic. He scoffed. "I don't see--"

"Why is no one else affected? If your theory of super-pheromones were correct, everyone on Atlantis would be all over the poor lad."

Rodney really didn't want to admit it, but Carson had a point. "The effects are limited to me," he said, finally.

"That is an observation, not an explanation. It isn't pheromones, and it isn't Major Sheppard. He is perfectly healthy, just like you are." Carson leaned forward. "All evidence points to the fact that you're just--"

"Don't say it! Don't start with me again!" Rodney was _this close_ to putting his hands over his ears and making lalala noises when he hurried out the door.

* * *

For the next few days Rodney busied himself with catching up on the routine tests for the Ancient tech that kept piling up on his desk. It gave him the opportunity to pointedly not think about Sheppard, his rare open smiles, his interesting eyes, his ass-- to pointedly _not_ think about Sheppard and his flattering features at all.

Sheppard didn't swing by the lab once to whine about being stuck in the city like he usually did, which Rodney tried to take as a positive point. It was probably wise to minimize contact for the moment, anyway – not that Sheppard was aware of that. When he finally did appear in the lab, Rodney was just carefully dissecting an Ancient maybe-an-image-projector, leaning down, squinting sideways at it. Sheppard's crotch walked by, slowly, right in front of Rodney's nose. How he recognized Sheppard's BDU-covered crotch when not much else of him was in line of sight was beyond Rodney, but he did. That, of course, was the point when his fingers slipped inside the projector and electricity surged through him. He jerked away, hissing.

"Rodney?" Sheppard pulled Rodney's hand towards him and inspected his fingers for a moment, before he seemed to remember he was still supposed to be angry. "You'll live," he said shortly, but not all that unfriendly, and let go. The skin on Rodney's wrist tingled where Sheppard had held it, which was really only an aftereffect of the electricity.

"Listen, Major," Rodney began what was supposed to turn out somewhat apologetic, "on that planet-- I wasn't really-- I didn't--"  
"Wanna go grab some lunch?" Sheppard interrupted. This thing between them, this understanding-without-words thing he and Sheppard seemed to have going sometimes, Rodney wasn't sure if he liked it anymore. Telepathy was for married couples. "You're still an uptight coward, though," Sheppard added, and strangely, that made it better. "I should fake an incredibly vocal orgasm in the mess, just to teach you."

Rodney snorted. "How very 'When Harry met Sally' of you. I can just picture Elizabeth breathlessly ordering 'I want what he had'."  
Sheppard grinned, and things were kind of okay between them again – except for the fact that Rodney spent the night pointedly not thinking about Sheppard's crotch a lot.

* * *

Carson was still looking half asleep when Rodney barged into the infirmary first thing in the morning. "I need you to do a--"  
"Is this about Major Sheppard again?" Carson interrupted, rather impolitely.

"As a matter of fact, yes! And no! It's me. It must be me! If you'd listened to me in the first place when I told you--"

"Any new symptoms? _Real_ symptoms?"

Rodney really should have gotten used to Carson belittling his health (or any other kind of) concerns, but he hadn't. "Apart from the sudden desire to go down on my knees and suck Sheppard off?" he snapped, then felt himself flush bright red instantly.

"Aye." Carson made a face. "Apart from that."

"What? This isn't real enough to have you worried?"

"It has me worried all right."

"Oh, let me guess: about Sheppard's virtue." Rodney crossed his arms, but he drew the line at tapping his foot. "That's just so very nice of you. Since he hasn't been in possession of any for a very long time."

Carson grinned. Rodney wanted to wipe the superior amusement from that smug face. "You're physically fine, Rodney," Carson had the nerve to add.

"I'm not!" Rodney yelled. "In fact," he added, stabbing a finger in Carson's direction, "I've never been less fine. I can't function like this. I'm being punished for nothing. Another body scan would only take--"

"No." Carson refused to be stared down.

"Fine," Rodney said after a minute of fruitless glaring. "When we're all dead by the end of the week, you'll only have yourself to blame."

Carson muttered something that sounded like (but couldn't have been) "And Major Sheppard's ass," at his back.

* * *

Elizabeth called Rodney in later that morning for a short-notice meeting on an even-shorter-notice mission. "The Legorians want to re-open negotiations. They insisted that you and Major Sheppard represent Atlantis again," Elizabeth said, smiling. "You must have made quite the impression." Rodney could just stop himself from grumbling, "You have no _idea_." He did roll his eyes, though. Since Ford was still sick, and Teyla was busy with something else – Rodney didn't listen to Elizabeth's explanation too attentively – the lucky bastards were to stay in Atlantis.

"I swear to God," Sheppard hissed, before they stepped through the gate, "If you don't keep your big mouth shut this time--" He left the threat unfinished. Rodney didn't need to be told twice. He was still struggling with his first round of Lego punishment, he wasn't in need of any more of that, thank you very much.

Rodney's determination made for barely thirteen minutes of negotiation time.

"Here we go again," Sheppard muttered under his breath, dragging Rodney after him through the assembly hall by the vest."Sorry! It just slipped out. I wasn't thinking."

Sheppard all but slammed the door of the antechamber behind them. "Obviously," he said, and, "You are going to pay for this." Rodney turned to face the wall at Sheppard's glare. "Believe me, I know." He clenched his hands into fists, gritted his teeth, and thought _Kavanaugh in nothing but rubber boots_ frantically without much success. When Sheppard gave the first fake moan, Rodney was already getting hard and breathing faster than he had any right to. He really hated Aldor and the Lego-guys with the passion he usually reserved for abysmal stupidity.

"Oh, yes," Sheppard fake-groaned.

"Really, I can't take another dose of this." Rodney turned around and strode towards Sheppard purposefully, eyes narrowed.  
Sheppard straightened from his relaxed stance against the wall to something more alert. "What?" he demanded.

"Another week of this, and I'll be going out of my mind. I'll go fucking crazy." The belt and the top button were already undone before Sheppard even caught on.

"What--? Rodney!" He tried to shove Rodney's hands away from his pants. "What are you--"

"If we do this right, then it'll stop," Rodney theorized and watched his hand with grim determination as he shoved it down Sheppard's boxers. "Really, I'm not gay," Rodney said and closed his fingers around Sheppard's already half-hard cock.

Huh. It seemed Sheppard was affected, too. He could thank Rodney later for ending this the sensible way.

A thumping noise made Rodney look up. Sheppard's head had fallen back against the wall; his hands had come up to grip Rodney's upper arms tightly. Sheppard opened his eyes again, focusing on Rodney with-- with-- disbelief, and with anger, and with other things that Rodney had no name for. Sheppard tightened his fingers on Rodney's biceps, as if to shove him away, and Rodney just _squeezed_. Sheppard's face contorted; his hips jerked forward.

"Rodney," Sheppard hissed, in a tone that wasn't as reprimanding as it could have been. "You can't--"

Fascinated by the way Sheppard's pupils had dilated, Rodney gave an experimental pull. Sheppard breathed in sharply. This was really a science – every action prompted a reaction. Hard science, Rodney thought, and it almost made him laugh, because that was exactly what Sheppard had gotten in almost no time at all. Smooth and warm and heavy in Rodney's hand; so much like his own cock and yet entirely different, because touching it made _Sheppard_ gasp.

"Why--" Sheppard started, between ragged breaths.

"We'll be fine afterwards," Rodney assured him, struggling to get Sheppard's BDUs and boxers down with his left hand without interrupting the rhythm he'd set with his right. More room, he needed more room to move.

"Oh _God_." Sheppard's head fell forward this time, onto Rodney's shoulder. His hair was tickling Rodney's neck. If Rodney shivered, that was from the cold in the room, and really not from the way that light sensation shot all the way down to his cock.

"No," he said, stopping completely when Sheppard's hands felt their way down his arms to rest on his waist. "Just you." The sound Sheppard made then could have been a protest, or a muffled groan, or maybe even Rodney's name. Rodney squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and tightened the grip of his shaking hand. With his lips brushing Sheppard's ear, he whispered, "Make some noise." Sheppard let out a desperate sound that was neither loud nor coherent enough to reassure their audience. "They need to hear."

"God, yes, you bastard," Sheppard grunted against Rodney's vest.

"Louder."

When Sheppard complied, every choked out sound seemed to vibrate in Rodney's bones, and it was the dirtiest, hottest, fastest turn-on _ever_. It wasn't enough.

Rodney slipped his left hand under Sheppard's shirt, sliding over smooth skin towards Sheppard's back, lightly scratching his nails along his spine, then brushing his fingertips further down to trace the curve of his ass. Rodney was suddenly hyper-aware of the sensations of Sheppard fucking his fist, of the streaks of wetness on his palm, the warmth of Sheppard's hitching breath on his neck; he felt Sheppard pick up the pace, and it was a _rush_, a rush like Rodney had never experienced before.

To hell with this. If the Lego-guys wanted Rodney gay, they could very well have him as gay as it could get for now. It would be over soon, anyway.He tightened his grip, dug his nails into Sheppard's ass and urged him on.

* * *

"Explain to me again how you're not gay." Sheppard was trying to catch his breath, slumped against the wall, pants tangled around his knees, unfortunately still looking totally, freakishly hot. The residual gayness would probably take a while to wear off.

Rodney stepped backwards slowly. "I'm not. We're not. Anymore. Everything will go back to normal. This should have fixed it. We'll be fine."

Sheppard stared at him as if he'd just declared that fully charged ZPMs could be carved from green cheese. "Fixed it," he echoed.

"Yes." Rodney looked around searchingly, then wiped his hand on the ugly (now even uglier) tapestry. "That's what _back to normal_ means in this context. With the punishment fulfilled as ordered, the side effects should be gone soon." Being in control again was really fucking good, Rodney thought, almost ecstatically. He tried not to let his painfully confined, still very hard cock quench the good feeling he had about this.

There was a moment of silence. Rodney could almost hear the pieces click into place in Sheppard's mind. His face was suddenly carefully blank. "I hate to break it to you, Rodney," Sheppard finally said, voice antarctically cold, "but gay was kind of normal for me to begin with."

That statement served as the cold shower Rodney had wished for just a few moments ago. He was still standing there with his mouth hanging open when Aldor stuck his head through the door to see what was taking him so long; Major Sheppard and the elders were waiting for him.

* * *

Aldor said something. He did that a lot, since he was some sort of spokesman for the elders, none of whom had uttered a single word during the negotiations. They were just sitting there in a row, quietly observing, like they had first time.

Now Sheppard said something, doing that funny little thing where he raised one eyebrow. Aldor answered stiffly. Sheppard smiled winningly – _God, that smile_ – and said something in return in that steely determined tone of his. Just the sound of his voice made the hairs on the back of Rodney's neck stand on end.

Aldor bowed his head and spoke again. At length. Droning on and on. Sheppard took a drink and played languidly with his glass, seemingly following every word. Then he agreed to _whatever_ in a friendly, satisfied tone. Rodney's gaze was drawn to the fingers moving slowly on the glass, wishing they were caressing something else, and, really, this was so far from fixed it was ridiculous. Something in the back of Rodney's mind, beyond conscious decision, just snapped.

"Major, how stupid are you, really?" Rodney blurted out, since this didn't need much of a context.

The new round of negotiations hadn't been Aldor's idea in the first place, that much had been obvious from the beginning. Now his lips were pressed to a thin line, his eyes narrowed at Rodney in a way that would have been a hissing fit in anyone else. The elders, though, they leaned back in their seats, watching curiously with matching amused expressions. They looked for all the world like they were expecting a great show. Rodney really wouldn't be surprised if someone broke out the popcorn any minute now.

* * *

"What now?" Sheppard demanded harshly, pulling the door of the antechamber closed behind them. "And don't even try to tell me you didn't do that on purpose. Do you still feel kind of gay? Want to blow me this time? Maybe that will finally exorcise it."  
Rodney froze, assaulted by the undeniable hotness of that image. Really, he was still very affected. It called for desperate measures.

His face must have mirrored his thoughts, because Sheppard's gaze hardened. "No," he said. "Forget that right away."

"Even though it didn't occur to _me_, it's a viable theory that needs testing." Rodney's fingers itched to touch. He licked his lips.

"I don't believe you," Sheppard took a step back, looking-- furious? Not only that. More furious than Rodney had ever seen him. " Really, I-- I don't have the words to express the-- infinite stupidity--"

"What? It's a reasonable--"

"I've got my own theory," Sheppard interrupted, visibly restraining himself from shouting. "Want me to walk you through it?"

"Actually, no, not really." Rodney crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Sexual identity crisis. And no, you can't be too old or too smart for that. You're gay, Rodney. Or bi. Whatever."

"I'm not! This is their crazed-out idea of punishment--"

"Cut the crap! They what? Chanted you out of heterosexuality? Cursed you gay? You don't really believe that. You like men, so what? Deal with it."

"I don't--"

"For God's sake," Sheppard hissed. "Why do you always need proof for everything?" Seemingly without transition Rodney went from being glared at by a frighteningly furious Sheppard to having his tongue sucked on by a delightfully devoted Sheppard.

Kissing. He wondered why he'd never thought about kissing Sheppard, but he only wondered for a short span of time, then his brain melted, all thoughts merging to the single impression that this felt incredibly, horribly good. Better than any wormhole travel rush, better than heroically saving the city ever had, probably better than winning the Nobel would.

Sheppard pulled back, eyes dark and dangerous, and squeezed Rodney's erection through his pants. "Tell me again that this is _them_ interfering."

For once, Rodney's mind was totally blank. The possibility that this might be just him, all Rodney and no interference at all, wiped coherent thought from his brain. The conflicting urges to reach out, touch, tackle to the ground, kiss, lick, deck, were Rodney's alone, and it was still all Sheppard's fault.

"I'd really like to blow you," Sheppard said matter-of-factly, and Rodney lost even that single train of thought. "But I'm supposed to make the porn sounds here, so this will have to do."

The light _clink_ of metal against metal, the sound of the zipper, Rodney registered those in a daze, because Sheppard was going to touch Rodney's cock, he was going to touch, touch-- and then he did, and Rodney almost came right there in his pants, gasping.

Sheppard froze, grip tight, not moving. "Do you want this?" Which was kind of a ridiculous question, considering their current situation. He met Sheppard's eyes. They were so cold Rodney felt them burn right through him, and he didn't say a single damn thing.

"Keep quiet," Sheppard said in a low voice, then breathed out a loud and effortlessly hot, "Oh God, yes, harder," against Rodney's neck. It took Rodney a moment to realize this wasn't meant for him, but for their audience outside. He had to bite his lip to keep from answering. It took only a few strokes and he was gone, over the edge, in more ways than one.

He didn't hear Sheppard leave, but when Rodney had collected himself enough to open his eyes again, he was alone. For a moment he seriously considered climbing out the window and high-tailing it for the gate. But since he'd rather not be eaten by one of the giant bear-lion things – the ones they had been warned about with very lifelike and very disturbing pictures – it wasn't really an option.

For the rest of the (maybe even successful, how the hell should he know?) mission, Rodney stayed silent, until the point where Sheppard stomped on his foot during the formal thank-you-and-goodbye ceremony. "Oh, um. May the sun kiss the path you travel and may the rain kiss your fields until the day we meet again," he rattled out, flushing, and did there have to be so much kissing involved?

Sheppard didn't look at him once on their way back to the gate. At least Rodney didn't think so; he never looked at Sheppard either.

* * *

Rodney had almost made it out the door when Carson realized, "You haven't mentioned any new symptoms."

He froze in the doorway, cursing inwardly. "What?"

"Of your sudden alien-induced fondness for Major Sheppard?" Carson clarified cheerfully.

"I'm fine," he snapped. "Perfectly fine."

"Really?" Carson asked. "The second exposure cured you then? That's interesting."

Rodney swiveled around. "This is none of your fucking business!" he shouted, then felt himself flush.

Carson stared. And stared some more. "That's it, right? You-- and he? You-- did it?"

Rodney did not panic then. Really not. Only a little, maybe.

"Seriously?" Carson said, looking stunned. "_Seriously_? Was it--"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Rodney said in a defeated voice – and why was he even answering that question?

"So you're really--"

"Yes, fine, hear me say it: There might be a slight chance that you've possibly been a little bit right and that I am, to a certain degree, kind of gay."

There was a moment of silence in which he could _hear_ Carson thinking. "You should," Carson said finally, gesturing, "you know, embrace it."

Rodney snorted. Only Carson. "Thanks a lot. Your wannabe-psychology might just have saved me a trip to Heightmeyer."  
Carson shrugged helplessly. "I'm--"

"You know what? I'm starving," Rodney interrupted him. He'd heard enough of this. He turned on his heel and left Carson sitting there, probably still staring.

When Carson set his tray down on the table next to his half an hour later, Rodney didn't even acknowledge his presence. He concentrated on the task at hand.

It only took a minute for Carson to crack and ask, "What are you doing, Rodney?"

"Oh, you know," he said, waving his knife in Carson's general direction, gaze not wavering.

"Trying to burn holes into people with newly developed laser vision?" Carson guessed. "Because that's what it looks like."

"I'm mentally undressing men," Rodney informed him. "Like you said to."

"What?" Carson sputtered. "When did I ever tell you to-- Never mind." The object of Rodney's current close observation stood and left his table. "Somehow I think Sergeant Bates would prefer third degree burns," Carson said.

"Hm," Rodney said distractedly. Sheppard had just walked in, looking as _everything_ as ever. Rodney's eyes were glued to him, right up to the point where Sheppard turned and looked back.

"So, what does your experiment tell you?"

Rodney quickly turned his attention to Carson. "Uh. Nothing. Everything. I don't know. Only that Sheppard really hits my-- Forget it." He needed to get out of there before Sheppard got the idea he could join them at their table for a cozy little talk, or-- or something. "Just-- mind your own business." Rodney would have liked to think that he didn't flee the mess, but that would have been lying.

* * *

While Rodney was making a beeline for his quarters, entirely calm and collected, Teyla stopped him to ask if he was feeling well. One floor further down, Simpson smiled at him cautiously and offered help. (With what exactly, she didn't say.) Elizabeth crossed his path just outside the main tower, commented on his nervousness, and kindly advised him to get some sleep. A female biologist whose name Rodney could never remember touched his arm and even frowned at him in concern.

He shrugged them all off.

This was just typical. As soon as he'd turned his back on women, they started taking an interest. The universe was a cruel, cruel place. Someone could have let Rodney in on the secret way to a woman's heart – well, okay, _bed_ – much earlier. If he'd known this was how it worked, he'd have ignored Sam Carter so hard she wouldn't have known what hit her.

And now-- Most men really weren't all that attractive, Rodney had discovered. On the other hand, this was also valid for the majority of women, so this fact told him nothing. But Sheppard was a different story. A _very_ different story. Mentally undressing Sheppard hadn't taken any concentration at all, not like Bates had, or that guy from anthropology with the long greasy hair. Also, Rodney hardly had to use his imagination, given the things he'd already seen.

Finally, the door of his quarters closed behind him. Rodney was still leaning back against it with his eyes closed, like a pathetic living cliché, when there was a knock. Accepting his fate, Rodney pushed himself off and opened the door. With his eyes wide and his jaw clenched, Sheppard looked a little determined and a lot like he was going to puke any moment, which was how Rodney knew that this was going to be important.

"We need to be able to work together. Let's get this out of the way. You're straight," Sheppard said without preamble, pushing past him. "I get that. You were probably just wired from-- everything. You're a totally crazy person. You know that, and I know that. Your deductions about the Legorians were downright _insane_, but I get that you were freaking. It was just your body reacting to the situation. You made me _so_\-- I shouldn't have-- coerced you."

Rodney stared, frozen in shock. Sheppard was doing the chivalrous thing and giving him an out? Rodney had been sort of prepared to let himself be coerced some more, preferably in interesting new ways. This was really not how he'd pictured this conversation going – not that he'd actually expected to ever talk about this at all. When Sheppard said, "Sorry," and "We're okay, right?" Rodney had the presence of mind to stutter, "Uh, of course," and watch as relief washed over Sheppard's face.

"Good," Sheppard said. "Good. I'll-- see you around, then."

The feeling of disappointment was sharper than Rodney would have expected. They could have done it again. Bodies reacting spectacularly – they could have had that again. Rodney wasn't one to turn down an opportunity for great sex, he just wasn't quite used to getting opportunities.

It took him several hours before he realized he'd only needed to say, "But I want to." The moment had passed now, and it wasn't like he was going to risk a valuable friendship and a working-relationship for – kind of gay, but certainly really hot – sex. It just wasn't worth it. They were okay now, as good as they'd ever been, and they could hardly get any better.

* * *

It was a relief to go on a mission again, to go back to their kind of normality – even if it was only a first contact with the prospect of a lot of talking and very little Ancient technology involved. The apple-like fruit and the blue yogurt the Zording had to offer promised to make up for a lot of boring negotiation time.

The team had been seated on stinky animal skins at the center of the Zording main market place. Teyla was sitting motionless, patient as ever. Ford – healthy and annoyingly bouncy – made an effort to mimic her, while Sheppard explained (at length) all of Atlantis's wonderful offerings to their future trading partners.

Rodney's patience only went so far. "Yes, yes, we all get it, Sheppard. Can you get to the good part already where we agree to exchange stuff?"

The Zording negotiator, Reena, could have been quite a lovely girl if she ever lost her sour let's-talk-shop expression. She reminded him of someone, but Rodney couldn't quite place her.

"You just dishonored your team leader and undermined his authority," Reena observed, sounding almost personally offended, and suddenly it struck Rodney who she reminded him of.

Sheppard made the connection, too. "Did you learn _nothing_ on Legoria?" he hissed angrily. But really, how should Rodney have known?

"You are acquainted with our brothers and sisters of Legoria?" Reena asked, brightening up a little.

"Yes," Sheppard answered cautiously. "We're trading partners."

"Brothers and sisters?" Teyla inquired.

"We are of the same origin; we have been living apart for only a handful of generations," Reena explained, not exactly smiling fondly, but it was close. "We still share many customs. Our ways are similar."

"That's great," Sheppard said. "They're a nice people."

"Yes, a very nice people," Rodney echoed, which was a mistake, because it drew Reena's attention back to him.

"Doctor McKay," Reena began, sour expression back in place, "since you undermined--"

"You can cut it out, we've heard it all before," Rodney said and felt his stomach slowly knot with dread, or rather: anticipation, or really rather: sense of impending doom. _Our ways are similar_ he thought, and _We still share many customs_. Wonderful. Just when they'd sorted out their – quite literally – fucking mess.

"You know about our way of--"

"Yes, we know," Rodney said. "Let me guess: You need to hear it?"

"Of course," Reena said, looking puzzled. "There would be no sense in it otherwise."

Teyla and Ford observed the exchange with identical quizzical expressions. Sheppard's voice was carefully neutral when he asked, "Where do you want us to do it?"

Reena looked back and forth between them. "Here, of course. We wouldn't want to stall our negotiations, would we?"

"What?" Rodney squeaked, seriously panicking now. "You want us to get it on out here in the open?"

Ford suffered from a sudden coughing fit, and Teyla raised an eyebrow.

"Get what on?" Reena asked, her patience clearly running thin.

Rodney gestured frantically. "You know, _it_. The ritualistic--"

"Pledge?" Reena finished, frowning. Sheppard looked kind of pained.

"If that's what you call it around here," Rodney said acidly.

"Well, what do _you_ call it?"

"Sex!" Rodney yelled.

Sheppard rubbed a hand over his eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _please kill me now_.

"Oh. Really?" Reena asked, looking torn between a little intrigued and a lot annoyed now. "When we use this expression, it is as a synonym for 'gender' or to describe two or more people enjoying the--"

"It seems we've run into a little misunderstanding here," Sheppard interrupted. "What exactly is it that we're required to do?"

"Doctor McKay needs to renew his pledge of loyalty to you, of course."

Ford couldn't suppress the snigger, and Teyla tried really hard to keep her expression neutral. Heated and flushed, Rodney reached heretofore unknown heights of embarrassment. In fact, if the ground had opened and swallowed him up, Rodney would have been eternally grateful. Only it didn't.

On the plus side, a pledge of loyalty sounded entirely doable.

Also, _two or more_ people?

Reena pulled him in front of Sheppard, who was wearing a grim expression. "Repeat," she ordered, unrolling a parchment. "John," she started, and the name felt alien to Rodney, uttered out loud.

"Witnessed by the Gods of the eternal stars," -- who else? -- "verified by the eight emissaries," -- whoever the hell that was -- "in possession of a clear conscious mind," -- wasn't that obvious? should he be insulted? -- "I promise to follow where you lead," Rodney repeated, eyes fixed firmly on the tip of Sheppard's left ear. "Your judgement I trust." Rodney's gaze flickered to John's face only for a brief moment.

"Your decision I respect." John's expression seemed curiously blank. Rodney gave up all pretense and looked. Their eyes locked. "In your dedication I believe." The gaze on his wasn't blank at all, warming him from the inside out, and the words were _true_, and it was entirely possible that those facts were tightly connected. "I put my life in your hands, and I swear you can trust me with yours." John almost smiled. Though his face didn't betray anything, his eyes did.  
"I have faith in you." Rodney did, more than he'd ever had in anyone else, himself included.

"Lead, and I will follow," Rodney finished solemnly, meaning it, meaning it all– _understanding_.

Satisfied, Reena rolled up the parchment. "Now you may--"

Rodney grabbed John by the vest and yanked him forward into a kiss.

"--clasp hands to seal the pledge," Reena finished, somewhat faintly. "Though this will probably be sufficient."

John cupped Rodney's face and tilted his own, and Rodney opened up for everything they hadn't shared before, slow ease and gentleness and no force at all. If bodies reacting had been decidedly cool, this was leagues above. This was understanding. This was-- _connection_. This was making Rodney dizzy with more than want. So he might be more than just a little attracted to John. And when had Sheppard started to be John, anyway?

"Rodney," John said, voice no more than a whisper.

"Yes. I get it now."

John, breathing hard, pulled him into an embrace. "Do you?"

Rodney felt the stirring of an erection against his hip. "Definitely," he said and buried his face in John's neck, pushing closer.

Reena cleared her throat. "We can resume our talk now."

As far as Rodney was concerned she could quietly fuck off. Naturally, she didn't. Several trying hours later, the Zordings' apples and yogurt were partly Atlantis's apples and yogurt, and they'd only had to offer an arm, a leg, and their firstborns in return.

On their way back to the gate John had a little heart-to-heart talk with Ford, who had looked a little queasy during the rest of the negotiations. Apparently, it didn't go too badly in the beginning. Then Ford shouted, "But, but why _McKay_?!" and Rodney started to plan a hundred creative ways of getting rid of him so no one would find the body.

"In time he will understand," Teyla assured him, suddenly emerging to his right. Rodney was currently stuck at number twenty-two – the botanists' enormous flesh eating plant – and had probably drastically underestimated his capacity for criminal thinking."He is young," Teyla added calmly. She cast decidedly less reprimanding stares at Rodney than he would have expected. None at all, to be exact.

"Hey, why aren't you worried about this?"

"Why should I be worried?"

"Oh, maybe, I don't know, because of the _team dynamics_?" Rodney asked disbelievingly. She of all people should know about these things.

"If you were to break up your personal relationship, would your feelings change?"

"Other than adding a new level of frustration on top of the already massive pile? No."

"So," Teyla said matter-of-factly.

"But-- but it's not that easy." Belatedly Rodney realized that he had ended up on the wrong side of the argument.

"Certainly," she agreed. "But this does not mean that it is not meant to be." She inclined her head at him and accelerated her step to take point. "Time is valuable," she added over her shoulder. "Do not waste it."

Actually, Rodney was reliably informed that time was relative, but in light of recent events he tended to agree.

* * *

"Hey, Carson." Rodney leaned against the door frame of Carson's office.

Carson lifted his eyes from the files he had been reading, glanced at Rodney once and said, "Someone got lucky."

Rodney couldn't stop himself from pointing out, "Several times," before his higher brain functions kicked in. How did Carson know, anyway?

"This is the first time I've seen you in a state that would qualify as relaxed," Carson observed.

"Oh. Really?" Rodney wasn't usually _that_ wound up, was he?

"If I'd known this would be the effect, I'd have been sorely tempted to apply the method before." Carson smiled faintly at Rodney's look of horror. "I'm kidding."

Rodney breathed a sigh of relief.

"You didn't come here to chat, did you. What can I do for you?" Carson asked in his best doctor's voice.

"Actually-- I wanted to-- If you had-- I'd like to ask you for--", Rodney stuttered, feeling his face heat, and his blood pressure rise, and damn, he wasn't a blushing teenager anymore, but someone had forgotten to inform his body.

"Alright, lad. Don't stroke out on me now." With an amused expression Carson passed Rodney in the doorway and disappeared behind a shelf. He returned with a handful of condoms and lube and shoved them in Rodney's hands.

"Yes, um. Thank you." Rodney even meant it, sincerely.

"Anytime, my friend," Carson said, still smiling. "I'm really--" He stopped.

"Happy for us?" Rodney supplied after a moment.

"Aye. Happy. That you found each other." Carson did look a bit doubtful, though. "Really happy."

"Well," Rodney said, not entirely convinced. He appreciated the effort, though. A month ago Rodney wouldn't have believed it either. "That's good to know. Um, I'll see you." He started to stuff the condoms into various pockets.

"Have fun," Carson advised earnestly, with his nose already buried in a file again.

"That shouldn't be a problem," Rodney said, since John's porn noises weren't such a terrible ordeal after all.


End file.
